Chapter 11 #2
We keep texting. The conversation drifts, easier now—her telling me about a sound check where Joel spent twenty minutes arguing about cable placement like it was a matter of life and death, me admitting that Schmidt put together a ranked spreadsheet of the team’s stretching form.
Cass:
Your teammate made a SPREADSHEET for STRETCHING?
Ben:
With color-coded tiers.
Cass:
I want to kick him in the face.
Ben:
You’d have to jump to reach his face.
Cass:
WORTH IT.
I laugh, actually laugh. The sound surprises me. I can’t remember the last time I laughed alone in my room.
Ben:
You’re funny.
Cass:
You too. When you’re not spiraling about literally nothing.
There’s a lull, and I glance at the clock. It’s almost nine. I should shower, eat, pretend to be functional before I need to go to class and then to practice. But I don’t want to stop texting her, and apparently she doesn’t either.
Cass:
Can I ask you something?
My fingers tighten around the phone.
Ben:
Yeah.
Cass:
Why do you hide the electronics stuff from your team?
The question lands hard, knocking the breath out of me. I could lie, or deflect, or make a joke. But she was so patient with me after last night that I feel lying to her or downplaying the significance of the answer would be a slap in her face.
Ben:
I don’t hide it from them, exactly. But I don’t talk about it much, either. I find that when I’m honest like that, it doesn’t go well. So I just… don’t.
The typing dots appear immediately, then stop. Then appear again. The whole time, I’m wondering what the hell was in my message that left her so indecisive. In the end, it takes almost a full minute for her to reply after my answer.
Cass:
I know that feeling. Showing people the real you and having them... not get it.
I stare at her message for a long moment. My thumb hovers over the keyboard, then stops. There’s something about the way she said it that makes me wonder what pain she’s got buried, deep down, beneath the cool-punk-chick facade.
Ben:
Can I ask you something?
Cass:
Fair’s fair.
Ben:
Why do you always look ready to fight?
Cass:
Because I learned early that people dismiss you if you look like you don’t belong.
So I make sure they can’t ignore me, even if they don’t like what they see.
The honesty of it hits me square in the chest.
Ben:
I like what I see.
I send it before I can second-guess myself.
Shit, shit, shit—you IDIOT!
It’s too honest, too raw. But it’s also the truth.
Cass:
Yeah?
You’re not so bad yourself, Kellerman.
My heart does something complicated—a stumble, a skip, a full system reboot.
Cass:
This is weird, right? Texting like an actual couple?
Ben:
I’m not usually this honest with anyone, let alone my fake girlfriend…
Cass:
I don’t usually trust people this fast…
Or at all, really.
The admission hangs there, glowing on my screen. She trusts me. Or she’s starting to.
Ben:
So what does that make us?
Cass:
Honestly? No idea. The best fake couple in Pine Barren?
I take a breath. There’s a team party on Saturday, the kind where attendance is mandatory. It’s the perfect opportunity to be seen together, to sell the arrangement to the entire team, to prove to them—and to myself—that I can actually do this.
I start typing, then delete it. Type again. Delete again.
Cass:
Spit it out, Ben…
She already knows me too well. That should scare me more than it does.
I smile, and decide to go for it.
Ben:
There’s a party Saturday night. Would be good for people to see us...
Cass:
Yeah, makes sense. More chance to practice.
I should leave it there. Mission accomplished. Transaction complete.
But my fingers keep moving.
Ben:
OK, but I also had fun talking to you last night, before…
Cass:
Before the “oops”…
Ben:
Yeah.
Cass:
Yeah. Same.
You’re surprisingly tolerable, Kellerman. Don’t let it go to your head.
A grin spreads across my face, wide and unstoppable.
Ben:
So maybe we can be both?
Cass:
Both?
Ben:
Fake couple AND actual friends.
Cass:
Friends who are pretending to date.
Ben:
Exactly.
Cass:
I can live with that.
We confirm the details. I’ll pick her up at eight on Saturday for the hockey house party, and she tells me to wear something that doesn’t look like I dressed in the dark. She sends a laughing emoji, and the casual ease of it makes my chest feel too tight.
Cass:
I should go. Band practice in an hour.
Ben:
Yeah. I should probably shower and pretend to be human.
Cass:
Good plan.
Thanks for texting me back.
Ben:
Thanks for texting first.
Cass:
See you Saturday.
I set my phone down on the desk next to the cassette deck. Louis Armstrong’s tape is still loaded, waiting. I press play again, and the warm, gravelly voice fills the room, singing about a wonderful world. And suddenly, it feels like he’s right.
She’s not running.
The arrangement continues.
And… friends. We’re going to be friends.
Except.
Except my body already told the truth last night.
I’m lying to myself, and some part of me knows it.
But for now, the lie is safer than the truth.